Just Another Knight
by ninjalogan
Summary: While investigating illegal drug trafficking, Batman finds himself in the middle of a war between the mob and an old adversary.
1. Shadows Unseen

**Just Another Knight**

By: Kyle R. Logan

**Chapter One: Shadows Unseen**

Darkness. For some people, it is a lack of light…something to fear…a cloak that hides monsters and demons within its folds. From a young age, human beings are taught to do anything possible to illuminate that which hides our worst nightmares…to push the darkness away so that which threatens us can be seen and dealt with.

For others…darkness is a safe haven…or a tool… For the creature sitting within its folds this night…it was a weapon. This being found comfort in the silent anonymity of the night…the absence of light. Tonight…it was but a shadow that stood vigil over a certain alley in Gotham.

"For the love of God, Jimmy, just open the fucking thing, alright?" The man who'd spoken gnawed the cigar that hung from his mouth, a small runlet of tobacco laced spittle running from the corner of his mouth.

"How do we know dey'll keep deir end of da bargain, Sal?" The sweaty, balding, fat man named Jimmy looked to his partner, the unspoken leader of their duo. Jimmy's jowls shook slightly as he quickly moved his gaze from Sal to the group of three men standing across from them in the alley.

"We don't. But if they like what we have ta offer, they'd do better to not double cross us so that they can get more when they need it later." Sal pulled out a book of matches and relit his cigar.

"Quite true…" One of the three men stepped forward, the light in the alley finally revealing a portion of his face. It was pale and expressionless, his lips nearly white from lack of blood. The man reminded Jimmy of a corpse…or one of the zombies portrayed in bad made for TV. monster movies. "You have nothing to fear from us…as long as your product is as you described."

"It's good stuff, alright. You got nothin' ta fear about that." Sal blew a mouthful of smoke to extinguish the match that was nearly burning his finger tips and tossed the smoldering stub to the damp pavement of the alley. It made an almost inaudible hiss and puffed a last plume of defiant smoke.

Jimmy thumped the briefcase he was carrying down onto the top of a nearby trash can. It made a soft gong on top of the full can and Jimmy popped the two latches holding the case closed. He flipped back the lid and took a step back.

The man who'd stepped forward reviewed the contents of the case and smiled. He sniffed lightly and stuck his forefinger into one of the plastic bags inside. The pale man withdrew his finger, long, bony, and skinny, with a small pile of white powder gathered onto his yellowed inch-long fingernail. With a quick glance to Jimmy and Sal, the man placed the finger into his mouth. After a moment of smacking his lips, the man smiled. His teeth were white and reflected even more light than his pale skin. They looked almost like dentures...and his smile stretched across nearly the entire length of his face. Jimmy shivered uncontrollably.

"It's as you say…good stuff." The man brushed his hands together lightly, and then gestured to one of the men behind him. The man came forward and opened another case. It was full of bundles of hundred dollar bills.

"One hundred and fifty thousand. Agreeable, yes?" The man smiled again. This time Jimmy was able to suppress his shudder.

"Poifect." Sal grinned behind his cigar and motioned to Jimmy.

Jimmy took hold of the briefcase full of money and, after a nod from the pale man, it was released.

The three men took their briefcase and walked out of their side of the alley.

"What do you think dey're gonna do wid all dat coke?" Jimmy mopped his brow and walked up to stand in front of Sal.

"Whadda I care? I just sell the stuff, Jim. For that matta, what do **you** care?"

"I jus' hope dey ain't sellin' it to no kids…you know?"

"I don't care if they're sellin' it to da Pope, if they come back for more, they're gonna get however much they want."

There was a sound near the end of the alley, as if a bottle had been kicked to skitter across the pavement. Sal put his hand inside his coat. "Who's there?" Sal grabbed his cigar and tossed it to the side. "I said 'Who's there?'"

"Sal…" Jimmy put the briefcase full of money to his chest and hugged it there. "Maybe we should get the hell out of here…"

"Shut up, Jimmy." Sal drew his pistol from under his coat and pointed it in the direction the sound had come from. "If someone hoiyd what we was talkin' about then they can make us." Sal crept towards the source of the sound, his gun out in front of him. The barrel shook as he came closer and finally stopped over the source of the sound. A bottle was sitting straight up in the middle of the alley. Sal kicked it in anger. "You better come out you rat bastard…I'm gonna blow you into next month!"

Jimmy was breathing hard and began backing away from Sal. Jimmy's armed partner was waving his gun wildly and frothing at the mouth. Sal finally put his back towards Jimmy and began spouting obscenities. Jimmy continued backing up slowly and suddenly bumped into something. It was hard and unyielding, yet covered in something soft…like rubber. Jimmy turned and found himself faced with a yellow oval with a black shape carved out of the middle…a shape like a bat. Jimmy raised his head to follow the chest adorned with the symbol up to a neck and finally a face covered in a cowl. Two long black ears rose out of the top of the cowl and came to surprisingly fine points. A pair of piercing blue eyes looked out from the holes in the cowl.

Batman smirked at the man before him. "Surprising weather for this time of year."

The voice was a deep whisper and it made Jimmy's knees weaken in fear. "Th..th…the Batman!" Jimmy whined the revelation and began backing up…slowly at first, then at a near run. He finally stumbled and turned around to sprint up to Sal.

"Sal! Saaaal!" Jimmy screamed.

"What? What the fuck are you doing, Jimmy? Can't you see that I'm tryin' ta save our asses here or what?"

"It's…it's…it's Batman!" Jimmy turned and pointed behind him, but there was no one there. The alley stood empty, steam rising from sewer openings, the breeze moving an occasional piece of trash.

"Not a thing there." Sal took a step towards where Jimmy had pointed and raised his pistol. "_You're_ the one goin' batty, Jimmy." Sal laughed and turned.

Both Jimmy and the briefcase were gone.

Sal stood a moment…unable to comprehend what was happening. He looked around for a moment, then up into the night sky, then back down to the alley. "Jimmy…?" Sal took a couple of steps towards where Jimmy had been standing. "Come on, Jimmy…this ain't funny." The lone man spun around quickly a couple of times, then snarled. "God, damn it, Jimmy!" With a whimper, Sal looked back and forth and asked of the alley, "Is this about the pizza? Jimmy, I'll order just fucking cheese this time…I promise!" The alley still surrendered only the sounds of the night and Sal was left breathing hard.

Something tapped Sal on the back of his shoe. On impulse, Sal turned and blasted the pavement with five .38 rounds from his police special. A glass bottle rolled leisurely down the alley. "Great fucking work, Sal…you just whacked a bottle of pop."

"Soda." The voice was almost a rasp.

Sal froze. That voice was cold. It had something in it…like that of a madman or an insanity that was barely controlled. Sal turned…and found himself face to neck with the bane of all criminals in Gotham City; Batman.

"It's Soda. I really hate it when people call it 'pop'."

"Wh…what did you do with Jimmy you sick bastard?" Sal threw his gun at his caped adversary, but his throw went wide of his mark. Batman allowed the gun to soar past his head.

_He didn't even flinch!_ Sal backed up…afraid of what may happen next. He had more bullets in his pocket…but unless he was going to put them in his ass one at a time and squeeze off some shots at the Batman, he wasn't going to be able to use them.

"So much for givin' ya two in the arm for flinchin', eh?" Sal laughed nervously. "I'm gonna warn ya, I was the heavyweight champion for two years in a row…I always wondered how I'd fare in a fight against ya." Sal put his hands in front of him and dropped into a boxer's stance. It had been awhile since he'd fought anyone face to face, but he was perfectly willing to give a beating to a man on his feet the same as a man tied to a chair. Sal hadn't been the heavy hitter for Tone-Deaf Tony for twelve years just to give up to the Batman without a fight.

Batman simply stood there with his cape folded around him. He smiled at Sal.

_Son of a bitch, he's HUGE…gotta be at least six-four or six-five…maybe 250 pounds. _Sal danced closer to Batman. He ducked his head a couple of times, feinted to the left, then right, and as he started to feint left again he threw a right hook. It connected solid with Batman's head.

The Batman's head moved a couple of inches or so, but his eyes never left Sal's. There was a popping noise and Sal felt a surge of pain blossom in his hand. He pulled his arm back and cradled it trying to close his hand into a fist or to open it all the way, but both caused fresh waves of pain to course up his arm. His two middle knuckles were broken. "Damn it…" Sal put his hand between his legs and squeezed, trying to get the pain to subside. "You son of a bitch…are you made of metal?"

"Wrong guy." Batman walked up to Sal and stopped. "The Man of Steel is in Metropolis. This is Gotham…my city." The caped crusader grabbed Sal's shirt in both of his hands and pulled the man up off the ground to bring him face to face at eye level. Sal's feet dangled several inches off the ground.

"Wh…what do you want, freak?" Sal's shirt had bunched up, causing his neck and chin press together and making his voice sound strained.

"You peddle poison onto the streets and make money off of other people's suffering…and I am the freak?" Batman tossed Sal through the air as if he weighed nothing. Sal landed at the side of the alley and crashed into a line of garbage cans.

Sal stumbled to his hands and knees, his injured hand screaming with pain in protest to having weight put upon it. He crawled to where his gun had skittered to a halt on the pavement and began reloading it. Sal closed the chamber and pointed the gun towards Batman…but he wasn't there. "What the fu-"

A gloved hand smashed into Sal's chin, dislocating his jaw and pushing two of his back teeth into the inside of his cheek. Another hand grabbed his hand that was holding the gun and wrenched it. With a snap, Sal's wrist broke and the gun dropped to the ground.

Sal gurgled a scream of pain, and tried to speak…to beg…but his jaw wouldn't move and he was forced to make clucking noises with his tongue. He tasted his own blood and smelled the copper of it in his nose. With a grunt, Sal rolled onto his back to face his attacker.

Batman looked down at him. With a couple of moves of his gloved hands, Batman disassembled Sal's firearm and squatted down.

The caped crusader loomed over Sal and finally knelt close enough to whisper in that gravelly voice. "Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"

Sal nodded vigorously, ready to end his punishment. His eyes widened in fear as Batman's gloved hands reached towards his face. He tried to back away, but Batman's hands cupped his busted jaw gently. It relieved some of the pain, and Sal sighed his appreciation. He had just closed his eyes and relaxed in relief when he felt Batman's hands twist, and a sudden crunching noise announced that his jaw had been reset.

Sal passed out from pain before he was able to scream.


	2. Wildcard

**Chapter 2: Wild Card**

Gotham. There was something noticeably dirty about it, as if the refineries and factories had tainted the entire city. Even the new architecture seemed dark and drab and coated in grime. As a stray dog, damp from the earlier drizzle, began to dine on a pile of nearby refuse, it raised its head for a moment then scurried into an alley. Seconds later a long black car streaked past, flames billowing from the turbine powering it.

Inside the car, Batman pressed a button on the dash. There was a beep and a small LCD monitor came to life. "Alfred."

"Yes, sir." Alfred's voice was soft and refined. It simply oozed class and dignity.

"I need you to look up a name for me…see if you can find anything on it."

"Ready when you are, sir."

"Jay H. Oaker. Is there anything about him in the computer?"

"One moment. No, nothing I'm afraid. Is he someone of concern, Master Bruce?"

"Apparently. He's been buying up large amounts of illicit drugs and heavy weaponry. At least, that's what my sources have told me."

"Sir, are you most certain that your sources are viable?

"Although not the most trustworthy, I'm pretty sure they were telling the truth…or at least what they thought was the truth. Keep looking, Alfred…let me know if you find anything."

"Certainly, sir. Please take care. The night holds an uncanny chill."

"That it does, Alfred." Batman pushed the button on the dash again, switching the display off. _Jay Oaker. _He hadn't missed the obvious reference to the Joker…but he was safely tucked away in the asylum where he'd been for nearly a year now since his last escape. Batman continued driving in the direction of home for a few more moments then, on impulse, spun the Batmobile onto a side street and headed for the asylum. _Joker…if this is another one of your tricks…_ He left the thought unfinished and focused on the road ahead as the dirty landscape known as Gotham City streaked past.

Melissa Crowe was a regular gal with a regular job. Up until this night, she'd been of the belief that she had seen everything in Gotham City. Every attraction, every popular store, every concert, and she even bragged to friends that she'd seen every single super-villain in Gotham as they were admitted to the asylum. What made this night special, is that she'd never seen the Batmobile pull up to the front of the hospital and that she'd never seen Batman walk through the front doors.

"Can…can I help you, sir?" Either this was a soon to be patient who'd spent a lot of time and money on his costume and vehicle, or this was the genuine article…_the _Batman.

"I'm here to see Jack Napier." The voice. It had to be him. Melissa had heard stories about Batman and his piercing blue eyes and his rough, yet gentle, whisper of a voice. Besides that, who else would be crazy enough to request a meeting with Gotham's most notorious and deadly criminal.

"Uh…the Joker?"

"The same." He simply stood…waiting.

"Uh…hold on one moment, sir. Let me…uh…let me go check with a doctor." Melissa stood and ran from behind the receptionist area toward the lounge.

Batman smiled to himself. It was rare that he mingled with citizens while in costume. He actually derived a bit of pleasure from the reactions people had to him.

After a few minutes, a doctor peeked around a half open door. The doctor scanned the waiting area, and his eyes came to rest on the caped and cowled man sitting in one of the chairs. He had his legs crossed, was reading a magazine, and was dressed like Batman. "S…sir?"

"Hello, Doctor Hearns." Batman stood and placed the magazine back upon the coffee table that was piled with other periodicals. An older woman sat clutching her purse and staring at him in a mixture of fear and awe. "It was nice talking to you, ma'am." Batman bowed and walked toward the door which the receptionist and Dr. Hearns both hid behind.

"He's…he's in his cell, Batman. I'll have him brought to an interrogation room."

"Don't bother…his cell will be fine." Batman walked purposefully towards the back of the asylum, not bothering to wait for the Doctor.

Doctor Hearns followed Batman to the cell where the Joker was being held, and unlocked it for him. "Certainly I should have him restrained, sir?"

"That won't be necessary." Batman closed the cell door behind him and walked towards where the Joker lay. A green mop of hair and a straightjacket was all that could be seen of Joker, and Batman grabbed the bundle and turned it over.

"Hiya Batsy Watsy!" A cheerfully shrill voice proclaimed loudly. "Mista' Joka' said ta be expectin' you!"

"Harley…I should have known." Batman gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Yeah, Joka' said you'd say that, too. Maybe you don't really know what you like everyone ta' think that ya' know and ya' make everyone think that ya' do know? Ya' know? Do ya' like my jacket?"

Batman looked to the restraint on Joker's sidekick and noticed, too late, that it was just ever so slightly loose. A kick to the face reminded Batman of his foolishness in underestimating the woman before him. Harley raised her hands from inside the straight jacket and stood upon them on the floor, holding the asylum bed between her legs. With a flip, she launched it at Batman, and the headboard smashed him against the wall. Batman grunted and fell to one knee.

"Time for you to go nighty-night!" Harley flipped and landed near Batman, then launched a series of kicks. Batman managed to block one kick, but another landed to the left side of his skull. "Oh, come on, batty, you can do betta' than that!" Harley pulled off the green wig and tossed it to Batman, who snatched it from the air out of reflex. He was then thrown to the side of the room when Harley landed two feet to his chest in a drop kick.

Batman slammed into the wall and instinctively rolled away and up into a crouch. Harley had landed where he'd been lying, her feet stomping into the floor where his ribs had been moments before. Harley was now wearing her trademark jester's hat, complete with bells. She launched herself into another kick and, Batman, having his wits about him once again snagged her feet from the air and flipped her upwards, cracking her skull against the ceiling. She let out a squeak of pain, and flopped painfully to the floor in front of Batman.

"_Ohhhh…_" Harley moaned while clutching the top of her head. "When did the big top become the concrete top?"

"It's over, Harley." Batman took a step towards the prone jester when suddenly a plume of green smoke erupted around her. Batman instinctively held his breath and made his way to the cell door. His instincts screamed at him, and he raised a gloved hand in time to block a kick aimed for his head.

"Ya' can't fight what ya' can't see, batsy watsy!"

Batman closed his eyes and listened for a moment, then spun and thrust his leg out into a reverse kick. It landed solidly and Harley let out another squeak as the wind was blasted from her lungs.

"Yer' just not fightin' fair!" There was a rustle of clothing and a clatter of metal against metal, then footsteps down the corridor.

Batman moved out into the now smoky hallway where the doctor and receptionist were huddled together. There was no sign of Harley. The caped crusader ran back into the cell and grabbed the wig, then sprinted back outside.

Only the cold, wet Gotham night greeted him. Dirty, wadded white linens were the only sign that Harley had come out this way. Batman moved to the Batmobile and stopped for a moment. Someone had spray-painted "ASSWIPE" across the windshield. Batman stood thinking and finally gave up trying to solve the immediate mystery in front of him. _Where did she get her hands on a can of spray paint so fast?_

The night was cold and uninviting…Gotham had become its own labyrinth…a maze with many mice and each one with a different piece of cheese. Batman was frustrated, cold…and more important…hungry. This was going to be a long night.

As the Batmobile pulled into its spot onto the turntable, Alfred stood waiting, serving tray in hand.

Batman climbed out of his car and pulled his cowl off. He tossed the cowl onto a nearby table and dropped into a swivel chair in front of one of his many computer terminals.

"Troubling night, sir?" Alfred set the tray down on the desk next to Bruce and began setting out silverware.

"Same as always, Alfred. What's that?" Bruce motioned towards the tray.

"Grilled turkey breast medallions in mushroom sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, and peas with bits of prosciutto served with Meursault." Alfred pulled a bottle of wine from where it had been breathing on the cart and presented it to Bruce.

"Alfred…"

"Yes, sir?"

Bruce hesitated… He was appreciative of Alfred's care of him and had to admit that the food was incredible…however, Bruce Wayne had never understood why Alfred didn't simply make him a grilled cheese and a bottle of water. Tomato soup for garnish would have been divine.

"It smells incredible. I'm not one hundred percent sure what pro..sh..-"

"Prosciutto, sir."

"Yes…well…I'm not exactly sure what it is, but it smells great. I don't know about the wine, though, Alfred…"

"Will you be going out again tonight, sir?"

"I have to. The Joker's out there…and now he has Harley with him."

"Oh, my…then I suppose you've already realized that Jay H. Oaker…"

In answer Bruce pulled the green wig from behind him.

"One glass, perhaps? It's good for the heart…or so I've read."

"At $200 a bottle, Alfred…it should open and pour itself."

After the light dinner, which had tasted as wonderful if as it had smelled, Bruce moved to his laboratory. He examined the wig under magnification, while Alfred busied himself removing the graffiti from the Batmobile. At first there didn't seem to be anything amiss. Two of Harley's hairs were tangled under the elastic of the wig and there were some residuals from the smoke bomb she'd released. Bruce stopped at one of the green curls and pinched a piece of debris that had become tangled among the fake follicles.

"Did you find something, sir?"

As Bruce examined his discovery under the microscope, he donned a pair of latex gloves. "I think I might have just figured out where Harley is going."

Bruce placed the fragment of material under a microscope and examined it. He then removed a piece with some delicate tweezers and dropped it in a vial, then squeezed some fluid from one of the many bottles lined on the back of the bench he was working at. With a few shakes the solution mixed in the vial and Bruce used a long dropper to draw out some of the solution. This he squeezed into one of many indentions on a separate plastic sheet and slid the sheet into a device next to the microscope housing the original fragment and began typing on his computer.

"This piece of material I found in the wig contains lye and glycerin."

"Ingredients for making soap, Master Bruce?"

"Exactly, Alfred."

"What interest would an unkempt simpleton the likes of the Joker have with soap ingredients?" Alfred moved closer to inspect the papers that were now being ejected from the printer nearby.

"I'm not sure of the Joker's motives…but I _am_ sure of where to find him now…or at least where to find my next lead."

"And where would that be, Master Bruce?" Alfred poured some coffee from a carafe into a cup he'd retrieved from nearby. This cup he set upon a saucer then set next to Bruce.

"Axis Chemical." Bruce took one of the printouts from the machine and examined it closely. "More specifically, Axis Fragrances, a division of the defunct Axis Chemical." He took the cup and saucer and sipped the coffee gingerly. He then slightly lifted it in a gesture towards Alfred and 'mmmed' his appreciation.

"Axis Chemical closed shortly after the explosion that created the Joker…" Alfred was organizing the pieces of Batsuit Bruce had scattered around the work area while he spoke.

"Yes, but the plant that was responsible for their cosmetics became a different entity…mainly contractual work for other cosmetic companies needing to meet special product demands. I think this warrants a visit…I want to see exactly what Axis Fragrances is up to. For that matter, call Sarah Patrick and see what you can dig up in regards to Axis Fragrance's financial statements. I want to know who's paying the bills."

"Consider it done…and…take care, sir…I don't have to tell you what lye can do to human skin."

"No, Alfred…you certainly don't. Could you grab me a fresh mask…I need to gather the tools I'll need."

"Certainly, sir." Alfred bowed and moved to the back of the cave towards the wardrobe.

Bruce sat and stared at the computer screen before him, studying the layout of the Axis Fragrance plant, memorizing every entrance and exit, every duct and stairwell.

_What are you up to, Joker?_ Bruce thought to himself. This was definitely going to be a very long night.


	3. ToneDeaf Trump

**Chapter 3: Tone-Deaf Trump**

People have a way of disappearing in Gotham. It was just the nature of the city itself. There was a downside to this fact in the cases where a dockworker or office clerk went missing…their families and friends left with no clue to their whereabouts…knowing that they'd been the victim of some terrible crime picturing their bodies buried in some remote field or sunk to the bottom of the harbor.

There was also an upside to Gotham's ability to make people disappear, at least from a criminal's point of view. As quickly as the three men had exchanged one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a briefcase full of cocaine, the night had swallowed them and allowed them to vanish into seemingly thin air. As the three men sat silent, like robots or drones, driving deeper into the city in a black sedan, they failed to notice a small black bat-shaped device affixed to the back edge of the briefcase containing their score.

The sedan wound its way through the city, taking a predetermined route that allowed the men to notice if they were being followed, a cellular phone rang. The pale man that had originally made the exchange put a hand inside of his trench coat, and pulled the phone from within one of the pockets. He opened the phone and put it to his ear without a word.

"I'll take your silence and the fact that you answered as a mark of your success. Hurry up and get your asses back here…Tony doesn't want to be late for da pickup."

There was a click and the pale man pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment. The grin never left his face, even as he put the phone away and nodded to the driver watching him through the rearview mirror. The driver nodded his acknowledgement, and floored the accelerator. The car leapt forward and deeper into the night.

"They're on their way…" Sammy set the receiver of the phone back upon the cradle and stood up. "I'm gonna tell Tony…"

"I wouldn't do dat if I was you, Stretch…Tony don't like ta be interrupted in da middle of his songs."

Sammy clenched his jaw at the mention of his nickname. Sammy was tall and skinny…not normal for a wiseguy, so his peers had begun calling him Sammy-Stretch over a decade ago. The name still grated his nerves. Stretch looked to the stage at the front of the club he was in. Upon it stood Tone-Deaf Tony, head of their mob and the worst karaoke singer this side of Gotham. At the moment he was singing a song that Sammy identified as a Frank Sinatra original only because of the words. It was all he could do not to flinch as Tony's voice cracked and missed note after note. No one dared tell the mob boss that his karaoke was on par with Yoko Ono.

"I'll wait till he's done…and stop calling me stretch, mook."

"Hey…hey!" The man who'd addressed Sammy as stretch put his hands out in a gesture of feigned ignorance. "No need for dat kinda talk. Next ting you'll be callin' my mother a whore or somethin'."

Sammy stood only for a moment as Tony finished up his song. Then turned and started to walk towards the stage. After a moment he turned back around to the other mobster. "Oh, yeah…forgot about dat. Your mother _is_ a whore." The other mobsters at the table laughed and began taking shots at their partner as the man glared daggers at Sammy's back.

"Hey, boss…" Sammy leaned in close to Tony's ear. Tony was a large man. He had thinning black hair that was greasy and slicked to his head, and a stomach that confessed his love of Italian food. He made the fifteen hundred dollar suit he was wearing look sleazy instead of classy. "They're on their way…and they got the stuff."

"Good…good." Tony spoke in a strained voice. He breathed hard with each word and any motion that took the least bit of effort. He wheezed and puffed even while sitting. Sammy had always thought Tony took the Godfather thing way to far…even for a real life Italian-American mobster. "Make sure that everything is ready…I don't want our _partner _here any longer than he has to be. Understand?" Tony had said the word 'partner' as if he'd been rolling it around in his mouth like wine, then had nearly spat it from his lips as if it had been an unpleasant taste.

"You got it, boss." Sammy moved away from the stage and gave silent thanks that the meeting room he was preparing was far away from the karaoke room. Tony started into a Journey song and _Don't Stop Believin'_ nearly chased Sammy from the room as he hustled to follow his orders.

Over an hour later, four people entered through the back door of Tony's, cloaked and covered from the rain. The leader of the four, a long gangly man whose frame spoke of wiry strength, wore a wide-brimmed purple hat with an obnoxiously bright yellow feather in the band. His suit was a bright purple with green trim and from the bottom of the trousers jutted white wingtips. The man's skin was incredibly white and his hair and fingernails were bright green. As the man raised his head to meet the gaze of Sammy "Stretch" Tutuola, his bright green eyes and ear-to-ear grin gave the hardened gangster a moment of doubt for his safety. The man looked…insane.

"Ahhh…Stretch, isn't it?" The man grinned, and it was obvious to Sammy that what he'd thought was a grin before was simply the normal position of his face. Bright white teeth framed in almost comical red lips. The man waited, then let out a cackle at Sammy's reaction to his face.

"Blessed Baby Jesus and a Ritz fucking cracker…yer da Joker…"

"The one and only!" Joker let out another cackle and did a quick step and slide to move himself shoulder to shoulder with Sammy. The crazed jester put an arm around the mobster and took a look of mock severity. "Don't let this grin fool you, my spaghetti slurping friend!" Joker moved his eyes mere inches from Sammy's lapel, licked his finger and picked at a spot that Sammy had spilled onto his suit a few hours before. Joker flicked his finger then stood up straight once again, bending Sammy backwards slightly. "I am as serious as you and your brethren in regards to organized crime!" Joker paused a moment, then took his arm suddenly from around Sammy, causing the mobster to stumble backward. Joker seemed unaware of nearly knocking the other man over as he stopped facing the three people that had accompanied him to the meeting.

"Well…at least serious about the _crime _part, anyway…not so much organized!" Joker spun in a slight crouch, the tails of his purple coat swinging wildly around him, and cackled again.

"We was waitin' on a Jay H. Oaker…he was supposed ta be buyin' some product from us."

"But of course!" Joker reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar, then, with a flick of his wrist, removed a lighter from inside his coat sleeve. The purple clad maniac leaned his head back and flicked the lighter, causing a flame nearly five feet long to jet from it. The madman lit his cigar and closed the lighter. With a flick of his wrist, as if he were a magician, the lighter disappeared again.

Joker took the cigar and held it between his thumb and forefinger, then squinted his eyes and curled up his lip. "Shee? I tell ya, wid us woiking togetha' anyone that messes with us…it's curtains for them, shee, coitens I tell ya!"

One of the three that had accompanied the Joker giggled. It was a woman's laugh, and Sammy looked to the smallest of the three. The woman stepped forward to put a hand on the briefcase that had been placed on the table. She had her face painted white with black stripes painted near her eyes and she was wearing a jester's costume, complete with belled hat.

"Hey…hey, what about our money?" Sammy stepped forward and put a hand inside his coat.

"Now, now, Sammy!" Joker stepped forward and put his arm around Sammy once again. "You have nothing to worry about!" Joker stuck the cigar into Sammy's mouth and stood back. "You may keep the three henchmen that performed their duties so admirably and…" The Joker stopped and was looking down at the briefcase in Harley's hand. "Well…it would seem that things are a little _batty_ around here."

Joker moved to the briefcase and plucked something from the back of it. He held it up for the room to see and grinned madly. Sammy squinted his eyes to better focus on the tiny object.

It was a small black object in the shape of a bat. Sammy's jaw dropped.

It had something to do with Batman. Where there was the Joker, Batman was always a step behind ready to put the madman away. Sammy looked to the Joker again and the madman began laughing. Joker palmed the device and balled his fist. There was a crunching sound as the bat was crushed then a clattering of small pieces of debris as it was dropped to the floor. The Joker laughed again and moved to the rest of his group. The four then began filing out the door and into the night.

"Hey!" Sammy drew his pistol as the door closed and ran around to the other side of the table. "What about our money?"

As the Joker and his group walked towards the bright green limo parked in the lot, Harley continued glancing back.

"Mista Jokah…what about their money? Won't they be mad?" Sammy's curses floated to them from the building as he wrestled with the door one of the Joker's henchmen had blocked.

An explosion went off then, billowing fire and smoke out of the door they'd just exited and launching the corpse of Sammy "Stretch" Tutuola several feet into the parking lot.

"I don't think Stretch will mind if we miss a payment…that cigar I gave him _obviously_ left a lasting impression!" The Joker threw his head back and laughed and the other two goons joined him after a moment.

Harley frowned at the dead body then looked to the Joker again.

"Ohhh, what? It's not my fault he couldn't take a joke!" Joker laughed again and hopped into the limo. Harley gave one last sympathetic look to Sammy's body then opened one of the limo's doors and hopped in as well.

As the limo sped out of the lot, Joker's laughter began to subside.

"Where are we going now, Jokah?" Harley checked her makeup in a nearby mirror.

"We won't be going back to the lab…Batjerk is probably already there…destroying _everything_." The Joker scrunched up his nose and screwed his face into a frown.

"My brand new Wet-Load Whoopie Cushion was there! Damn! Some people have NO respect for another kook's property!" Joker slammed a closed fist into the armrest and looked out the window. "Maybe Batsie will sit on it before he blows the factory up…" This possibility cheered the Joker considerably, and the madman began giggling as he stared out the window.


	4. Fragrant Clues

**Chapter 4**

Fragrant Clues

_Thanks to everyone who has left a review and who have read my story. Got bored with it for a bit, but shifted some things around and am excited about where it might go now. Forgive anything that seems too "quick". I have a problem with skipping through to the "good stuff" but also know that the trivial crap in between makes for a good story, so hopefully I can find a happy medium. Also, feel free to leave a review since seeing reviews helps me realize that people actually read this crap and want more. Anyway…let's see what the caped crusader is up to now, eh?_

The night air of Gotham swirled amidst the smoke and ash rising from the stacks that jutted from the Axis Fragrances. A rusted gate topped with razor wire stood silent vigil over the concrete, steel, and iron garden within. The Batmobile hummed and whirred as its security system was enabled, locking it tight behind armor stronger than that of a tank's.

Batman surveyed the scene of Axis Fragrances and mulled over the landscape before him. Things were too quiet. The caped crusader pulled a tool from his belt and quickly cut through a portion of the fence and pushed himself through. With a few quick movements, the fence was back in place and Batman had blended into the shadows among the industrial center's courtyard.

A quick toss sent a batarang around an overhang and gave Batman access to the roof. After silently measuring distances, he moved to a spot in the roof and removed a piece of sheet metal, giving him entry to the ductwork.

"You sure about this?" A large man in a brown leather coat held up some papers and vials.

"You heard The Joker. He said to destroy _everything _that could be considered evidence, and that's what we're gonna do!"

"Yeah, but Tony-"

"Tony don't know nothin' about nothin' when it comes to The Joker. We work for the kook now, not that dim-witted, bad-singin', Tony."

In the ducts above, Batman listened, absorbing the conversation. Tone-Deaf Tony was partnered with the Joker. Batman smiled to himself. That could be a seriously bad career move for Tony. Batman had been after Tony for awhile, as had Commissioner Gordon, but Tony had been nigh Teflon…as nothing ever seemed to stick to the mobster. It was one of those situations where everyone knew who Tony was and what he did…just that nobody could ever prove it and Batman always seemed occupied with bigger problems.

"But what about what he was workin' on?"

"He said he don't need none of this stuff anymore…he's got what he needs now."

Batman made his move then, wanting to salvage any evidence that he could of whatever the Joker was planning. He kicked the grate out of his way at the end of the duct and landed atop one of the desks in the office. As he landed his foot squashed a file that had been set on top of the clutter strewn about the desk, and wet flatulence blasted from beneath the pile. Batman wasn't surprised by the odd placement of the whoopee cushion, but he did lament that his entrance had been made a bit less severe than he'd originally planned.

The man in the leather jacket drew a pistol and aimed it towards Batman, only to have it knocked from his hand by a streaking blur of black that carried through its flight and disarmed the other mobster as well. Both men stood holding their hands in pain and gaping as the batarang Batman had thrown returned to his hand. This he folded and placed within his belt.

The man who'd been barking orders previously hefted a vial andthrew it at Batman, who turned and caught the vial within the folds of his cape. He thenspun andlaunched the vial back towards the two men by whipping his cape in a loop around him as a toreodor would.

The vial smashed against a desk and sent the liquid inside splashing against the man in the leather jacket. The wave of fluid hit him in the chest, neck, and face and immediately began making a hissing noise. Acrid smoke filled the room, causing the other mobster to cough and Batman to pull a respirator from his belt and put it over his mouth.

The man in the leather jacket began screaming and thrashing around, the skin on his body that the liquid had touched burning. Batman tossed a flash bomb towards one of the fire sprinklers, causing it to burst and blind the other mobster. As water began drenching the three men, the caped crusader took the blinded mobster by the shirt and elbowed him between the eyes. The man grunted and fell to the floor unconscious.

Batman moved to check on the man who'd been burned. As his body rolled over, even the Dark Knight had to grimace. The man's teeth were showing through his left cheek and his eyes had gone milky white…the lids having been burned away and the orbs inside the sockets having been rendered useless. His pulse showed him to be near death in apparent shock. There was nothing that could be done for him now.

After gathering several folders and papers and some other vials, Batman placed samples of the vials into small flasks and took pictures of every document he could find in the room. After he'd finished, he placed the camera and flasks into his belt. He finished by taking a sample of the caustic soda that had burned the mobster.

Batman heard footsteps outside the door of the office and moved to the vent he'd entered the office from. He attached a line to the vent cover he'd knocked free and swung himself back up into the vent. He then pulled the vent cover up to him and pulled it back up into its pressure fitting within the duct.

Moments later four men burst into the office.

"Holy Mary Mother of God!" One of the mobsters leaned down to the man who'd been burned as another man ran to a trashcan and vomited.

"Whoa…the Joker wasn't kiddin' around when he said that stuff was dangerous…" This man checked the other mobster Batman had knocked unconscious. "Hey…Jake's still alive…and he's been worked over…"

"Who the hell could've gotten in here without us seein' em and done this?"

The four men exchanged silent glances then simultaneously drew their pistols, casting nervous glances around the room and out of the windows.

"Get the rest of this shit burned, get Jake woke up, and drag Bob-O's corpse out of here and put it in the trunk. Keep your eyes peeled and let's get this done and the fuck outta' here."

"You think it's him…I mean…The Batman?"

"You know how it goes, mook…now get movin'."

Batman had heard enough, he moved back through the duct and out onto the roof, where he made his way down and back out to the Batmobile. Once inside he pushed a button on the dashboard.

"Alfred…"

"Yes, sir?" Alfred's face appeared on the LCD in the dashboard composed and well-groomed as usual.

"I'm on my way back. Place an anonymous call to the police…tell them they need to check out Axis Fragrances immediately."

"Of course, sir. Also, the tracer you placed on the briefcase in the alley has stopped transmitting."

"What was the last good signal you received?"

"I have the address and am sending it to you now, sir."

"Excellent…thank you, Alfred."

"Of course, sir."

Batman removed the vials and camera evidence he'd retrieved at the chemical plant from his belt and placed it in the fire-proof receptacle behind the console of the Batmobile. He then removed his mask and put it back into its spot in his utility belt. After a few twists in the seat, Batman had exchanged his old utility belt for a new one that contained different tools and weapons. After getting situated, the Dark Knight stomped the accelerator to the floor and tore through the night, racing towards the address Alfred had uploaded to his GPS.

"I done told you cops…we don't know what the hell happened!" The mobster who'd been insulted by Sammy "Stretch" Tutuola earlier that night had completely forgotten about the shot taken at his mother and stood amidst the rubble surrounding the white sheet covering the corpse of his friend.

"Right…right…just another case of randomly explodin' buildings." This gruff voice belonged to Sergeant Harvey Bullock. He was a rather large man with an almost perpetual 5 o' clock shadow. His slacks were faded in the fashion of a man who paid no attention to the "dry clean only" tags in clothing, he'd missed a few buttons on his shirt, his tie was askew and had what appeared to be a mustard stain on it, and his brown trench coat was the standard stereotype model for a beat cop in Gotham.

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Tutuola?" This voice was more refined, soft and melodic, with a hint of hardened street wisdom. Detective Renee Montoya was Bullock's partner, a dark haired, dark eyed detective that would have been attractive if not for her blatant attempts at accentuating the placement of her badge and gun.

"I told you…I saw Stretch about an hour and a half ago…he told me he was goin' ta take a leak."

"Come on, Frank…give us somethin' here." Bullock knelt and pulled back the sheet covering Stretch's corpse, causing the agitated mobster to wince and turn his head. Stretch's face and neck hadn't endured the flames of the explosion very well. His teeth and most of the bones in his face were visible through the charred remnants of his skin and his eyeballs had burst and left slimy trails down the sides of his skull. "Whew…smells like somebody mighta overcooked the noodles!"

"Show some respect ya friggin' bastard!" Frank rushed forward and covered the body again.

Sergeant Bullock was about to speak when an unmarked pulled into the lot. Commissioner Gordon stepped from the vehicle and walked towards the odd trio.

"What do we have, Sergeant?" Gordon stopped and nodded at Detective Montoya. "Detective."

Montoya nodded. "Commissioner, sir."

"We got a dead mobster. Looks like he was blown up pretty good. This mook here claims he didn't see nothin' or nobody." Bullock stood and gestured towards Frank.

Frank shifted his feet and eyes nervously…and looked about ready to speak when another voice interrupted.

"It is a terrible crime that has happened here." Tone-Deaf Tony was walking towards the group of four with three other men behind him. "Sammy Tutuola was a very close friend of mine and of every man here…you can be sure that we will help you however we can."

"Well…that's good, Tony, but we're going to need a statement." Commissioner Gordon's tone was curt and less than polite.

"Of course…of course." Tony smiled and waved his hand. "We'll come to the station now to talk…yes?"

"That may not be necessary." This voice came from the shadows near the entrance to the parking lot. Batman stepped forward a moment later.

"Holy Christ we only need a freakin' lion and a guy in a hat and we got us a circus!" Sergeant Bullock stepped between Batman and the others, his hand inside his coat.

"A pleasure, as always, Sergeant." Batman strode past Bullock, giving the man a passing glance.

"Batman…" Commissioner Gordon moved past the others and fell in step beside the caped crusader. "What's going on here?"

"The Joker." Batman moved into the blasted remnants of the room and began to sift through the rubble.

"You're certain?" Gordon gave a worried frown.

In answer, Batman held up a tiny piece of unburned material. "One of the Joker's special cigars."

"What are you going to do?" Gordon dug around inside his coat and finally held out a plastic bag for the evidence Batman had collected.

"I'm out of leads at the moment…was hoping to find something more here to go on." Batman sifted through the rubble a bit more, then stood and patted his gloves together to get the dust and soot off.

"We'll let you know if we find anything…for the moment I think we're going to take Tony and his boys downtown to talk while forensics looks for anything else of interest here." Commissioner Gordon looked back at the group of mobsters with a disgusted look on his face.

"Don't expect much of a conversation from them. If they're in league with the Joker, then they've already been burned…and they're probably not too happy about letting it get out."

"Why would any businessman as smart as Tony do business with TheJoker?"

Batman gave Tony and his crew a quick glance, then looked back to the Commissioner and said gravely. "There aren't many people who can say 'no' to the Joker and keep a straight face...or keep their face straight."

Gordon stood in silence mulling this revelation over as Batman walked back towards the end of the parking lot and into the shadows.


End file.
